


the purest expression of

by canniballistics



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Everyone Needs A Hug, Other, so many hugs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 16:04:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4485960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canniballistics/pseuds/canniballistics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've got some letters to write."<br/> </p><p>Set after Here Lies the Abyss — Varric's letters have been received, and so the Inquisition (and Cole) welcomes some visitors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the purest expression of

**Author's Note:**

> so, i started writing this after finishing here lies the abyss and sending my inquisitor after cole's amulet — and then my game broke completely, so i haven't been able to progress at all. i know that you can help him decide which world he wants to rest in, but this is being written as if that's not an option yet, since. haha. i have no idea how that ends, and don't want to spoil myself with youtube playthroughs. 8);; i've got plans for cole to meet and speak with every companion from da2, so there should be more chapters forthcoming!
> 
> (well... every companion except for sebastian. i haven't played the da2 dlc yet, so i haven't met him. maybe once i get it and get a feel for his character, i can add another part for him ;;;; sincerest apologies, guys.)
> 
> also, i reference dragon age: asunder a little bit; if you haven't read it and you like cole as a character, i totally recommend it!! his life is so sad ;A;

Cole noticed the man ride into Skyhold from his seat in the ramparts, sitting amongst the stone and listening to the idle chatter of the soldiers patrolling behind him. None of them paid him any mind, which was alright, and if they did notice him, they forgot a moment later. It didn't bother him at all; it was just more of what he was already used to. The single rider's arrival stuck out as odd to him, however. He was by himself, bearing no standard or easily recognizable colors that marked him as a messenger from a noble house. Refugees and soldiers looking to join their cause usually arrived in small groups to support each other, rarely if ever by themselves. The Inquisition had made friends among the Dalish in the Exalted Plains, but he didn't carry himself like one of them, either. He was simply alone, and Cole vacated his spot quietly as they stopped him at the gate below. This was someone who would matter. He wanted to be there when the Inquisition received him.

The man was disappointed, when he arrived. Cole could feel it when it was revealed that the Inquisitor had taken out a party and wasn't due to return for a while still. He seemed to know Cullen, who delivered the news; they shared terse words, backs ramrod straight and hands conspicuously itching for the weapons they were forced away from. Cole hung back, considering stealing their swords away to make it safer, but it would be more difficult than a guard's dagger, wouldn't it? Trained warriors, one of whom was — for the most part — used to him now. Perhaps not. Cole trailed after the newcomer when their meeting ended, watching the way the man's cloak billowed around him as he strode into the grand hall, and as he drew close he could see the man's pointed ears, half hidden by silver hair. He clapped hands with Varric, the red strip of fabric tied around his forearm standing out stark against the gray of his armor, and the two of them exchanged quiet greetings as they made their way over to a table. Cole stepped closer to eavesdrop.

"—did what he could, but who knows what really happened in there? I read the Inquisitor's report _twice_ , and I still don't know if I believe most of it." Varric and the elf were seated by a fire, a flagon of ale in front of each of them. Varric stared down into his, and a fresh wave of misery rolled off of him. "It's the Fade, Broody. We dwarves don't claim to understand anything about it, but I'm not sure there's anything they can do."

"I don't accept that," the elf, apparently named Broody, argued. "If they were able to enter it in the first place, there must be a way back. They can't just—" He broke off when he noticed Cole, who jumped back upon seeing the sudden threat flash when their eyes met. The loss of the Champion was a raw, still-bleeding hurt for him, and Cole ducked his head to avoid that look. "Explain yourself. Now," Broody demanded, his hand immediately going to the knife in his belt, and Cole could hear a faint thrum of confusion in his voice. _How did I not notice him?_

Varric followed his gaze, and held up a hand to stay Broody's blade once he landed on Cole. "That's just Cole, a friend. He...does that." He sighed deeply, leaning back in his chair and nodding to him. "I thought you were gonna work on the sneaking up on people? It doesn't really stop getting creepy if you don't practice," Varric teased.

"I was curious. I'm sorry," Cole said, and his gaze shifted to Broody before continuing quietly, " _He's gone. Confusion and panic, anger and fear. Betrayed. "I don't make that promise unless you do." He promised, and it became a lie._ But— he didn't want to lie. It only became one out of necessity."

"Varric," Broody's voice was quiet and low this time, a furious hurt bleeding into his voice as his grip on the knife tightened. An unsubtle threat, less in the name of self-defense now. "What is this?"

"That's the _other_ thing he does. It's kind of hard to explain," Varric sighed again, scrubbing a hand over his face before turning to Cole. "Now might not be the best time, kid. You should probably scram for a while — my friend here can have a pretty short temper, and personally, I prefer you all in one piece."

He didn't want to go. He wanted to stay, to try to help, to untangle some of the hurt that threatened to overwhelm Broody. He could see the way it made his hands tremble despite how he tried to steady them, how his knees had threatened to buckle with the weight of it all on his way in. It was good Broody was sitting now. Cole pulled his hat down low over his eyes. "He was very brave. He didn't think he earned the title, but he did. He thought of you when he faced the demon." 

Then he was gone, walking quickly away and through an adjacent door, and once it shut behind him he ran. Up the stairs, around the corner, through another door that opened just above where Varric and Broody sat. He tried not to come up this way too often; this was where Madame Vivienne lived, and sometimes the contempt rolled off her in cloying waves, too thick for even him to bear. It seemed he was lucky today: she was nowhere in sight, so he sat against the bannister and pulled his knees to his chest as he listened in again. 

"—be told, we're not sure _what_ he is, really. We just know... Well, he's a special case," Varric's voice echoed up to him, and Cole knew he was trying to explain him, almost pitied him the endeavor. "He means well, that much I know for a fact. Try not to go all _Berserker_ on him, okay?"

Broody didn't respond audibly, but from the tired sigh Varric gave, Cole could guess he didn't need to. It was the most he'd ever heard Varric sigh in all the time he'd known him, and Cole could feel it that he was close to a breaking point. He would have to figure out something to do for him, too. For now, he wanted to listen. There was silence from below for a good minute or two before Broody spoke up again.

"He said that Hawke...thought of me. Is that true?"

"I couldn't tell you. Like I said, I didn't actually go with 'em." There was a thump as a flagon was set back down on the table. "Cole did, though. He was one of the "lucky" few." Varric was quiet then, and Cole had to strain to hear him as he added, "Sounds like that demon did a number on all of 'em, the kid included. The Inquisitor said he was pretty freaked out. I imagine it'd be pretty hard not to be in that situation, though."

Cole closed his eyes, curling in on himself to try to block out the sudden wave of memory. The taunting, the thoughts, the sick, sad, twisted song — he didn't want to remember it, how _wrong_ it had all been. Everything there had been so wrong, and he could almost hear the song again if he listened hard enough, could feel it sliding across his skin and poisoning him slowly. _Please keep talking, please,_ he prayed silently, and breathed a harsh sigh of relief when Broody spoke again.

"What about the Inquisitor's report? Do you know where it's been catalogued? I'd like to read it for myself." And after a pause, Broody added, a hint of a tease, "No offense meant, of course."

There was a tired amusement in Varric's voice when he replied, "Truly, I'm hurt. You can try asking the Seeker, though I don't know how likely she'll be to give it up. Barring that, Sparkles was the only other person who went with the Inquisitor." There was a pause, after which Varric chuckled. "Sorry. I got so comfortable, I forgot you're new in town. Almost felt like old times." He took a deep breath, trying not to let it turn into yet another sigh. "Probably your best option will be Cassandra, the lady Seeker. Short black hair, scar on her cheek, always looks like she's been sucking on a lemon. If she doesn't give you the report, you can try to at least ask her about it. I...don't think you'd get on too well with Dorian. And you already met Cole. Seems like of the bunch who went in, Cassandra or the Inquisitor himself are your safest bets."

Silence after that, and it stretched on long enough that Cole wondered if the two of them had fallen asleep, or left. He twisted around, peering out over the edge of the balcony, to see the men sitting in silence, each nursing their flagon and gazing at the fire in front of them. There was a similar sad ache to the both of them, and it puzzled him to find that it was made better, if only a little, by each other's company. They were both thinking of the Champion, good memories colored with a now-impenetrable sadness. Cole closed his eyes, leaning his head against the bars of the bannister and trying to listen to each of them in turn. They had all been friends years ago, he learned, back in Kirkwall. Before the Inquisition was even an idea, before the mage rebellion. His hands tightened around the bars at the knowledge; they'd been witness to the event that brought tensions between the mages and the templars to a head. He wondered what they'd think if they knew he'd seen the rebellion's beginning firsthand at the Spire. Two sides of the same event, missing pieces of the same puzzle.

"And just _what_ do you think you're doing?"

Cole jumped as the voice rang out behind him, hitting his head on the railing in his rush to whip around. Madame Vivienne was standing in the doorway, a hand on her hip and lips pursed. She wasn't happy to see him. She never was, and that he'd trespassed so close to her territory was an inexcusable offense. Cole hesitated for only a second before dodging around her, fleeing into the library alcoves before she could do anything to him. While it was true that she hadn't made any move to, he had no illusions that she'd be more than happy to banish him to some lightless nothing, if given the chance. He ducked around a corner and nearly bowled Dorian over, instead managing to only knock a few of the books out of his hands and completely startle him.

"Sorry," Cole breathed, scooping the books off the floor and holding them out to him. "I didn't mean to." 

"It's all right." Dorian set his books down on a nearby table, taking the ones offered and setting them on top of the stack. "Why _are_ you running through the halls like a madman, though?" Vivienne's name was the only word he needed to say, and Dorian nodded understandingly as soon as it left his lips. "You're more than welcome to join me, if you like. You won't come to any harm here." He swept a hand toward the alcove behind him, an open invitation for company and a slightly more subtle one implying his assistance, should he need it. 

Cole shook his head, turning him down with a quiet, "No, thank you." He turned to leave, and paused, remembering Varric's guest and the shape of his hurt. It was an old hurt, somewhat healed, but it still cried as if fresh. "Dorian." The man looked at him as he sat down, and Cole glanced toward the door. " _He uses his magic and it burns through my skin. I would die to claw it out but it would be worth it, so worth it to see his precious investment squandered in front of him. He will die by my hand, heart's blood coursing down my arm, and he will know it was I who killed him. I will never trust another magister as long as I live._ " Dorian was silent when he finished, brows raised as he digested the information. Cole simply nodded. "Be careful of Varric's friend. His name is Broody. He's very angry."

"Well," Dorian took a deep breath, pursing his lips. "That's good to know. Thank you for the warning, Cole. This _Broody_ sounds like an absolute joy to be around."

"He can be nice," Cole added, remembering Varric and how glad he'd been to see him. "Just not to you or me. Solas, too. He doesn't like magic things."

Dorian stroked his chin as he sat back. "Yes, I imagine so. We'll have to make sure to warn Solas once he and the Inquisitor return, then." He rummaged through the things on the table, bringing out a sheaf of vellum and a quill before looking back up at Cole. "Are you sure you don't want to stay? My notes seem to make more sense after long hours if I've someone to read them to, as we discovered last time."

A small seed of happiness sprouted in Cole's chest at the words. It _had_ been nice: he'd come across Dorian late one night, mumbling in circles about discrepancies in Tevene bloodlines and histories and ready to throw his inkpot at the wall. When he noticed Cole watching, he'd grabbed his wrist, dragged him down into an adjacent chair, and began reading his notes aloud, furiously slapping the vellum from time to time to illustrate his points. Cole had sat, patient and quiet, only speaking up once Dorian had finished and was about to start on his tirade again. He still wasn't sure exactly what he'd said, but something had dawned on Dorian then, sending him to dig through loose sheets and scribble something down a different way than before. _Cole, you've just mended two and a half hours of senseless raving,_ he'd said, beaming at him. _I could kiss you! I won't, but know that I could._ Thank _you. I mean it._

It had been nice to be thanked, though he hadn't expected it. Helping is just what he did. He shook his head at the offer now, however, and took a step back. Dorian nodded understandingly, tapping the end of his quill against his chin. "Very well. People to help, chefs to spook; all very important, I'm sure. Please do come check on me in a few hours, however, to make sure I haven't driven myself mad again."

Cole nodded before turning and making his way out of the library. It should have been long enough now that Varric and Broody were gone; sure enough, when he got back downstairs the table had been vacated. He hovered for a moment, wondering if he'd be able to feel out more of them, find out how he could help. It was hard to tell, only the faintest wisps left behind, nothing that might provide any sort of clues. His sense of Varric was stronger, but only just; seeing as it was his usual table, that didn't surprise Cole at all. He frowned, brushing a hand against one of the seats' backs in one last attempt, before heading back to the Herald's Rest. There was nothing here to help him. Perhaps he would think of something better there. 

It was a good plan, Cole thought. Or it would have been, if he hadn't seen Broody and Krem sitting at a corner table and drinking together as soon as he walked in. Krem was saying something, laughing as he took a deep draught off his drink, and Broody's response was to chuckle quietly, look at the bottle in his hand. They were talking, commiserating over their "cussed idiotic bosses" whose hearts were too big and heads too hard — at least, Krem was, while Broody made his own comments. Cole looked past them to where Bull was sitting, watching the two and grinning, making no secret of it as he casually eavesdropped. It was a nice picture, but when he looked back to Krem and Broody, the elf was glaring at him, no longer paying attention to Krem's stories. Krem noticed after a moment, following his gaze, and leaned in to murmur something into one pointed ear. Cole ducked his head as soon as Broody's eyes left him, pulling the shadows in the tavern around him to try to hide as he slipped up the stairs to his spot. He didn't want to know what Krem was saying, and he didn't want to hear Broody's anger. He could feel it well enough that Broody didn't like him, and that was just fine. He'd still try to do what he could, but for now, he would heed Varric's words and stay away.

\---

His decision to leave Broody alone didn't last long. It happened two days later, near the kitchens. One of the cats had had kittens, and they were just deciding to learn to walk. He sat nearby, watching over the tiny, squirming bodies as the mother sat in his lap and purred. One of the kittens, a grey and white striped ball of fluff, wasn't doing so well: it struggled to raise itself to its feet, mewling pitifully as its brothers and sisters left it behind. Cole looked down at the mother cat, who crooned softly; he took this as her approval, reaching out to scoop the kitten into his hands, delicate as he brought it up to his face.

"You have to stand up," he murmured as it curled up in his palm. "Cats are harder than people, I don't— understand how to help. So you have to do it by yourself." The kitten mewed softly, butting its head against his finger as he gently scratched behind its ears.

"This is not how I imagined you would spend your days," a voice drawled from behind him. Cole jolted, trying not to jump and disturb the cats and only barely managing it. Broody — _Fenris_ walked past, the hilt of his greatsword visible beneath the heavy cloak he wore; when he turned, his hand was on his dagger again, but his fingers were relaxed. Nonthreatening, for now, but a warning that he could be. It wasn't necessary. The whole of Skyhold knew who he was by now, and thanks to a sparring match with Iron Bull, that he was a force to be reckoned with. It was also how Cole had learned that Broody was a nickname. Varric must really like him.

Cole didn't respond to the words, holding the kitten close to his chest to try to protect it in case Fenris got angry, simply looking up at him from under the brim of his hat. He didn't understand. Varric must have explained things to him; what was he doing? He'd done well at following Varric's advice and avoiding the elf so far, despite how much he'd wanted to help. So what brought Fenris here, to him, instead?

A kitten with almost completely black fur wandered over to Fenris' feet, stumbling over its own and using its newfound power of mobility to crawl atop one boot. He frowned down at it, and for a moment Cole was afraid he would kick it away. Instead, he took his hand off his dagger, kneeling to pet the kitten gently. A barely noticeable, fleeting smile flickered across his face when it licked his fingers and rubbed its oddly red nose against them. 

"He likes you," Cole said quietly, and it wasn't clear whether he was talking to the kitten or the elf. 

"For as long as I can remember," Fenris began after a moment, "I have hated magic, and the things it creates." He paused as he ran a hand along the kitten's back, careful not to let his gauntlet scratch it, and then looked at Cole, his expression wary. "Varric told me what you are. He and Krem both promise that you only mean well, that you strive to help others. I trust them. I do not trust you."

Cole nodded, glancing down at the kitten in his hands as it curled up to sleep. It didn't take much searching to find the words. " _Magic will invariably make monsters of men. They are only either corrupted by its power, or destroyed by it._ It's not always true, but that won't change your mind."

"No," Fenris conceded, though he was visibly uncomfortable with Cole's words, how he'd relayed his feelings so easily. "It won't." He watched as the kitten tried to climb up his armor, its tiny paws slipping when they found no purchase. His eyes were far away, though, voice taking on a distant quality as he continued, "Hawke proved that there could be exceptions, however."

 _A finer mage I have never met_ echoed through Cole's mind then. He remembered the Champion as he spun his staff in his hand, storming toward the Nightmare as the Inquisitor and the others ran for the tear in the Fade. "There are always exceptions," he agreed, and for a brief second he thought back to people he'd once counted friends. "There can be good mages, just as there can be kind templars. Things are never as black and white as they seem."

"Indeed. All the same, I prefer to err on the side of caution." The implication that Cole might have to prove his good intentions to Fenris hung heavy in the air. It wasn't something he minded, really; he could tell that Fenris had been angry and hurt for too long to be easily swayed. He understood that, even if he had no idea how he was meant to prove himself. There was silence for another moment before Fenris took a deep breath. "I did not come here to make idle chatter with you."

Another nod. "I know. You want to talk about the Champion." Cole shifted to move the kitten from his hands to the cowl around his neck, letting it curl up in the folds of fabric. It was a tiny, comfortable little weight that pulled the fabric down and settled warm over his heart. The mother cat stretched in his lap, kneading her claws in the braided leathers of his pants as she purred. He scratched behind her ears, murmuring quiet promises that her kitten would be safe, before looking up at Fenris. "You have questions. Go ahead."

Fenris looked around, nudging his kitten away from his feet before pulling a stool from the nearby kitchen window. As soon as he sat down, however, the black kitten was mewing and rubbing against his boots again. 

"He likes you," Cole repeated, this time directed at Fenris. The mother meowed her agreement. "She says it's okay to pick him up."

"Is that right? I thought you didn't understand cats." Fenris asked, frowning down at the kitten. Still, his touch was gentle as he scooped it up in one hand, depositing it gently on his lap. He looked at Cole then, expression serious, and he knew there would be no more talk of cats. "I believe that I am owed an explanation. Not from Varric, this time; from you."

Cole looked away, his gaze shifting from the elf in front of him to the cat in his lap. She purred as he scratched under her chin. There was so much he could say; where should he start? Cole took a deep breath, frowning just a little, and decided to start the best way he knew how. "I'm a spirit. Of compassion. I can hear the things that people might not think out loud. I hear them when they need me."

"Compassion," Fenris repeated, and Cole could tell he was thinking of someone else. It wasn't in his favor, but he nodded in confirmation anyway.

"When someone needs me, needs _compassion_ , I am there. I help, I soothe the hurt, make it so that they can move on with their lives, and aren't weighed down anymore. Then, I make them forget I was there, so that they can be free." Cole was careful to keep his head down, focusing his attention on the cat as he said, "That's why I said what I did, before. The Champion didn't want to break his promise to you. He just didn't see another choice."

It was quiet for a moment then; Cole looked up before it started to get unbearable, to find Fenris frowning down at his kitten with a puzzled expression. All he could offer were consolations, but Cole had found them to help others before. He could feel it that the elf was warring with himself, torn between disbelief and wondering if he could accept them from a spirit. Finally, Fenris lifted his head, idly scratching the kitten's chin as he said, "Tell me what happened in the Fade."

Panic rose in Cole's chest, eyes going wide as he looked at him. He didn't want to remember. He wanted to forget, to be forgotten, to never ever have to think of that strange, dark place again. "No, you— you should ask the Inquisitor," he said shakily. "He wrote the report, he was there. Or ask Cassandra. They should be back—"

"They are not here," Fenris interrupted, "and I will not speak with the magister. If you truly want to help, tell me what happened."

"That's not _fair_." Cole ducked his head, shaking it quickly. He wanted to help, but not like this. "Ask me, anything else, anything, but not this. I don't _want_ to remember." 

The cat in his lap began clawing into his pants again, sensing Cole's growing agitation and meowing before finally jumping up to find a more peaceful place to nap. Cole watched her leave, and when he looked up at Fenris, his face was impassive. He shook his head, and Cole knew he wasn't going to budge. And then, as if knowing it would force his hand: "It will help me to know."

Cole looked away again, movements quick and jerky. If it helped Fenris, if he could get it over with sooner— "Dark," he began. "Dark and sick and wrong, and up is down and down is down and nothing makes sense. The song hurts, broken and twisted into something unrecognizable. It isn't _safe_. We weren't supposed to be there, not like that. Not as ourselves." He took a deep breath, trying to get back on track, but it was harder, the more he thought about it. "The demon, it taunted us, knew all the right things to say in all the right words, and they pretended it didn't bother them but it did, it crept beneath their skin and stung the more they denied it. Especially the Champion. It wasn't his fault that people died. She was broken into pieces, dying in his arms, a piece in a madman's game, and he still blamed himself for it after she told him not to. It wasn't his fault, but the demon made him think it was." He could feel Fenris react at those words, but he kept his head down, kept going, couldn't quite bring himself to stop. "That's what the demon did, it found our fears, made them known, planted them in little seeds to grow and then _fed_ off them, gorged itself and grew powerful." Its words came back to him then. _We're not so different, you and I._ "I _don't_ do that. I don't take peoples' hurt for myself, I don't grow stronger from it. I make them forget, untangle the knots and set them _free_. I'm _not_ a demon, I'm not like _it_ at all!"

"Cole—"

Fenris' voice was low as he said his name, but a sharp cry from his chest interrupted, and Cole jerked out of the frenzy he was working himself into to find the kitten in his cowl staring up at him, clawing into his shirt. He took a deep breath, scooping the kitten up and setting it on the ground in front of him instead. "Thank you," he murmured, and the kitten licked his fingers before stumbling its way back into his lap and making itself comfy.

There was a quiet moment, and Fenris tried to hide the strange, strained quality in his voice as he asked, "Are you all right?"

"I will be." Cole rubbed his fingers along the kitten's spine to calm himself before continuing. "The Inquisitor didn't want him to stay, but the Champion felt he had to, so that something he did would actually make a difference. He said the demon was lying when it told him he didn't matter, but deep down, he wondered if it was right. He shouldn't have wondered. He shouldn't have listened." Cole closed his eyes, bowing his head as he finished, "The Champion ran to face the monster so that we could escape. He thought of you, and other people he loved, and wished he could have said goodbye. He just...decided that he was tired of people dying for him. That it was his turn. He was still fighting when the Rift closed behind us."

A heavy silence settled around them then. The kitten in Cole's lap rolled onto its back, and he obliged with belly scratches before remembering that Fenris had been holding a kitten, too. He looked up to see it curled in his lap, rubbing its head back and forth against his hand and purring gently. Fenris was hunched over it, his free hand pressed to his face and breathing in deep, controlled breaths. His upset was amplified now, much louder than it had been before he sat down. This isn't what was supposed to happen. 

"You said it would _help_ ," Cole deplored, frowning, and already he was tucking away his own outburst, pretending it hadn't happened, to focus on him. "Why isn't it helping?"

Fenris didn't respond for a long moment. His emotions were a maelstrom, anger and regret and grief and upset all pulsing within his chest. When he finally sat up, he took a deep breath to calm himself, and there was a subtle glare on his face, as if challenging Cole to mention his reddened eyes. "It has helped. I know now, for certain, that he was an idiot."

The statement surprised Cole. He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He was always like that," Fenris replied, shaking his head. "He blamed himself for his mother's death, for the things that happened to his siblings. And when the Chantry was destroyed, when he realized what he'd been party to, it too weighed on him. He never forgave himself, even after Anders left. Everything we did together after that, everything _he_ did, it was with some foolhardy recklessness, throwing himself headfirst into danger to try to make up for... _everything_." He scrubbed a hand back through his hair, tucking loose strands behind one ear. "His actions spoke enough for themselves, but he never believed they did. It was foolhardy of him to listen to a demon."

"Yes. It was." Fenris looked at him, and Cole just nodded. "Demons can't be trusted, they can only lie and hurt and ruin. He shouldn't have listened." And then, quietly, he added: "He might have stayed behind anyway, but it shouldn't have been because of the Nightmare."

Fenris watched him for a long moment. Cole couldn't hold his gaze for too long, looking away to instead pet the kitten that was now rumbling away in his lap. When the elf finally spoke, there was no hint of the animosity that had previously been too obvious. "You are a strange creature, Cole. I have known another who was also possessed by a spirit; he became poisoned by its conviction, and it was driven mad by his anger." 

Cole found it interesting that he didn't name the other person an abomination, as he was used to being called; still, he nodded. He could see the image in Fenris' mind as the Kirkwall Chantry exploded, the blast of wind and hailing rubble. He knew what Fenris was getting at. "I won't become corrupt." Fenris frowned at him, not quite believing, and Cole looked away again. He knew how to convince him, quiet as he spoke. " _Where am I? It's dark. I'm scared. The rats hurt when they bite, but I would rather it be them than the templars. Please, don't let them come back. They hurt too, but at least the rats don't do it to be cruel. Don't let them remember me._ " 

He could hear Fenris take a sharp breath, and continued before he could interrupt, " _It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, but at least the templars didn't come back. They never came back. I'm not afraid anymore. The Maker will come for me, won't He? He won't leave me here. Please, come soon. I don't want to die alone._ " The kitten mewled quietly, and Cole nodded. This confession was from a long time ago, old enough now that he was no longer so upset by it. It was just a fact to him now. He was calm, frank as he spoke. "I sat with him as he died, and then I became him. It's only me in here. There's no one left for me to spoil."

It felt like a long time before either of them spoke after that. Cole was silent, letting Fenris process what he'd heard. He hadn't told anyone how he died, how _Cole_ died. Fenris knew pain, though, and knew spirits as well. He would understand. At least, Cole hoped he would. "I don't want to change anything. I just want to help."

"All right. I'll believe you." He could feel Fenris questioning, more curious than anything; he didn't ask for more, however, and despite how candidly he'd spoken about it, Cole was grateful. Fenris hesitated for a moment then, before cautiously asking, "You said that you make people forget, once you've helped them. Will I forget, as well?"

"No." Cole shook his head. "I couldn't make it go away. There's no point if it doesn't go away." After a brief pause, he added, "Besides, you wanted to know what happened, for it to help. I messed up; there's too much of _me_ telling you about it. If I made you forget me, you would forget the rest too. It would be pointless."

This answer seemed to satisfy Fenris. He nodded as he considered it. "Good. I would rather not forget, neither this conversation nor you."

That surprised him, and Cole found he couldn't quite bring himself to respond. He wasn't sure whether that meant he'd proven himself to Fenris, or if he was still being judged. Strangely, he found himself hoping it was the former, rather than the latter. "Did it really help?" He asked after a while, finally looking up at Fenris again. He needed to get back on topic, needed to make sure. "To know what happened to the Champion."

Fenris paused, considering his answer. "Yes. It was...confirmation. Hawke did what he thought was right, and fought to the end." He scooped the black kitten out of his lap, despite its protests, and set it on the ground in front of him before standing. Cole watched, unmoving from his spot, as the kitten yelled up at him. There was a slight tremor to Fenris' hand again. "Thank you, Cole. I think, however—"

"You need to go. It's all right." Cole glanced back toward the main hall. "Varric is happy to see you. It's helped him, to have you here. He will understand if you need to be alone for a while, though."

When Fenris left, the kitten followed after him; idly, Cole wondered what he would name it once he realized it wasn't going to leave. He took a deep breath, raising his face toward the sun, and let its warmth seep into his bones.


End file.
